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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078465">Gregory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock'>Strange_johnlock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dating, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Hiding away in a panic room, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, M/M, Mycroft is in love and being an idiot about it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:49:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg have known each other for years. Lunch dates develop into a blossoming romance - and Mycroft cannot allow that, can he?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>173</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Gregory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangersmilesStrange/gifts">StrangersmilesStrange</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you, Amelia, for beta reading this for me. You are just wonderful!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>„Gregory.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had heard his name said by Mycroft Holmes multiple times during the long years of their acquaintance. When Greg had first suggested the first-name basis after hours of waiting in a hospital lobby, they had both feared for Sherlock’s life, their only comfort being the other’s presence and the horrible coffee from the cafeteria.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were relieved when they finally heard the news that Sherlock would be okay, the elder Holmes was leaning heavily on his umbrella, as if his legs would shortly give out from under him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was surprised, when Greg had shown up at his work with doughnuts and good coffee a few days later, wanting to make sure he was okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when Greg had done the same thing a week later. Mycroft had looked up from his laptop, still looking immaculate in his three-piece suit, though it was obvious to Greg that he was exhausted, through the look in his eyes and in the lines around his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a hint of doubt, Greg had suggested going out for lunch someday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, two days ago, Mycroft had said ‘Gregory’ with a tiny smile, as their legs brushed under the table where they had sat in the corner of a small café that had become their regular over the past few weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, Mycroft sounded different. The tone of his voice, the way he held himself as he stood in his living room, made Greg’s stomach drop. Somehow, after many shared lunches and great conversations, Mycroft seemed far away all of the sudden. Greg was surprised. Really, being invited to Mycroft’s home, he would have expected … something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what, exactly. They had been dancing around each other, laughing together, flirting even, a skill which he wouldn’t have thought that Mycroft possessed. Maybe, he just found him charming because he was entirely besotted with the man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of that was visible now, behind his stony face. Greg was sure Mycroft presented that face to diplomats and world leaders alike, demanding their respect with dark eyes and pursed lips, his spine straight as a rod. His hands were giving him away. One of them clung to the chair-back, fingers pale with the force he put into his grip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that, contrary to what Mycroft might have intended, made Greg want to walk towards him and wrap his arms around him until the other man’s body melted against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t. They weren’t just there yet. Without talking about it, they had agreed to take things slow, at least that was how Greg had seen their interaction so far.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gregory, this needs to end.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there it was. Greg felt his stomach drop. What a dreamer he had been, thinking a bit of cake and flirting over pasta carbonara could make the most important man in London fall for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had looked forward to every lunch date, waited early in front of the café for one of the dark cars to arrive, he would burst into a smile every time Mycroft got out of the passenger seat. When they weren’t together, he had thought about little else, his mind wandering to Mycroft in every moment that it wasn’t occupied with work, looking forward to the next week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or in Sherlock’s words: “You are even worse at your job than usual. Could you focus your idiot brain for once?” Greg had grinned at that, like a fool, and texted Mycroft the minute the younger Holmes left his office, scheduling another lunch date.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Should that all be over now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Greg tried not to show the hurt he felt, not wanting to feel even more vulnerable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We will surely remain acquainted, as my brother likely will get himself into another mess quite soon. But this friendship of ours…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Friendship?” Greg asked, turning the proverbial dagger and pushing it into Mycroft’s flesh, feeling gratification when the word made Mycroft’s mouth twitch, just for a moment revealing the sadness that lurked underneath the mask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I cannot deny that I’ve enjoyed our shared meals, Gregory. They have been …” He leaves the sentence hanging in the air as if to torture Greg even more. And he isn’t even doing it on purpose, Greg knows that much. He has gotten to know this man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We both know who I am,” Mycroft continued, after a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We do.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg wants to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are funny and smart and introverted when you are being yourself. You love cake. You can talk about old movies for hours, and about all of your travels. You love your brother dearly and would protect him at all costs. You live for your job, something we share.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, that might be the problem. Greg knew all of that. And with a man like Mycroft Holmes, that's probably a bad thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My work is my priority. It takes up my life. A fact that I am not about to change, am not going to change for the foreseeable future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not…” Greg started to protest when they were interrupted by a voice on the intercom. Greg had passed the security guy in the foyer, and another one once he had exited the lift on the top floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir, there is someone asking for you. A Mr. Miller. He says he has an appointment, but I can’t find him in my…” There was a loud bang, a sound that had become so familiar to Greg through his career, there was no mistaking, where it came from.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both him and Mycroft froze, as the security guard made a pained, gurgling sound. Then, the intercom went quiet. For a moment, nobody moved. Then, Greg’s training kicked in. He was by Mycroft’s side in a second, as his eyes scanned the room. He didn’t have his gun with him – it was his day off- so there was no way to defend himself against whoever was trying to get into the flat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no way they could get out. They were on the top floor and the front door was currently being rammed in by a stranger with a gun. Shit. He couldn’t think about that poor man who may be dead, or badly injured in the hallway, Mycroft was his priority.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a panic room. We will be safe there,” Mycroft hissed, stepping towards the bookcase.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sighed with relief when after some fondling at the top row of books, a door swung open. It was heavy and about ten inches wide, a fact that calmed Greg’s racing heart a bit more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft had already stepped inside when the wood gave in with a loud crack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gregory,” Mycroft hissed, reaching out a hand to pull him to safety. Greg, on some instinct, moved in the opposite direction. Grabbing one of the armchairs, he drags it to the door, wanting another barrier between them and whoever was outside. He wedged it under the handle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gregory!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gun was fired again, tearing through the wood. Before Gregory could move, his world went dark with pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> _____ </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>What happened next was a blur. When the pain slowly decreased to a bearable level, he realised he must be in the panic room, the steel door tightly shut, keeping the intruder out. He was leaning against the wall, the small lamp over him the only source of light. The walls were blank except for two cabinets at the opposite wall, just next to the door. From what Greg could see, they seemed to store medical supplies, water, and canned food, enough to seek shelter in here for a while. Mycroft was by his side, only wearing his white shirt and waistcoat. His suit jacket had been wrapped around Greg’s arm tightly, the skin underneath throbbing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What…?” Greg croaked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The wound is superficial. You did not lose too much blood, to your own luck.” Mycroft looked down at him, and there was a fire in his eyes Greg had never seen before. “I could throttle you. What were you thinking? The panic room is safe, What did you even learn during your police training?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Greg realized. Mycroft was angry with him. Scared for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re worried about me,” Greg found his tongue heavy in his mouth but managed a crooked smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare make me regret giving you morphine.” Mycroft huffed, but the lines around his mouth eased a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Morphine. That explained the numb feeling, and his foggy brain. It was also an explanation of why Greg had not asked the most important questions, yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the man?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man’s face darkened, as he looked towards the door. “He tried to get in for a while. I heard him, while I was taking care of your arm. He’s quiet now. Stopped screaming. My.. my men are surrounding the flat, but he has barricaded himself in the living room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, we might be here for a while?” Greg realized, head rolling back, thumping against the other man’s shoulder. Mycroft was nice and warm. He smelled like rich cologne and a bit like sweat, mixed with the coppery tang of blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know… what happened to your security guard?” Greg asked, remembering that horrid, pained whimper coming from the intercom. The memory made him bury his face deeper against Mycroft’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Simon. They are fighting for his life.” Greg pressed his nose against the other man’s neck in an attempt at comfort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, I hope he’ll be okay. That mad man just shot him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All in an attempt to get to me. He is…” Mycroft went quiet for a while, then Greg felt his hand in his hair, stroking the silver strands. His eyes fell shut on their own volition. He wished they weren’t here. He wished, his shoulder wasn’t throbbing after a grazing shot. He wished there wasn’t a man fighting for his life. He just wanted Mycroft’s fingers playing with his hair, as they sprawled on a couch, watching an old black and white movie. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with Mycroft’s scent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They identified him as a former agent. I don’t know what happened to make him … decide to do this.” Mycroft continued stroking greg’s hair, his fingers drawing circles on his scalp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is my life, Gregory. I can never… have a friend, and not fear something like this happening. You were hurt, today. That can never happen again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those words stung more than his shoulder, where the bullet had torn open the skin. This tender touch was just a taste of what they could be, and Greg wanted more, wanted it all. He wasn’t going to give up just now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a bloody DI, Mycroft. I get guns pointed at me on a regular basis. I might die on the job tomorrow. I’m not some wilting flower you have to keep safe. I’m aware of how dangerous life can be. That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “It is not a surprise, to hear you say that, Gregory. And I am aware that you put yourself at risk. But I refuse to be any danger to your life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are distracted, for a moment, by loud bangs coming from the living room, as the intruder threw himself against the wall a few times, seeming desperate in his rage, now, his words muffled as he screamed. “Come out, you fucking coward. Come out and face me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg felt Mycroft flinch against him and, moving carefully, wrapped his healthy arm around him. “This can be a strength, instead of a weakness. We aren’t so different, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pained chuckle escaped Mycroft’s throat. “But we are, Gregory. You have your work, but you go out after, with your friends. You spend time with your sister and niece. You have a life. I just – I have the work. There is little else. I am actually quite boring.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he looked up, Greg could see insecurity in the other man’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would be a horrid friend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mindful of his arm, the DI sat up a bit, until he could look into Mycroft’s face. The man wasn’t a classic beauty, but Greg liked his features and the way he held and dressed. He was especially in love with that nose, and the faint freckles around it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be your friend, you magnificent man.” He said, cupping Mycroft’s cheek in his hand. Greg waited just long enough to give him the chance to move away before he kissed him. Their lips met, just rested against the other’s for a moment. Greg felt the other man shiver and rubbed his thumb over his cheekbone in small circles, in an attempt to soothe him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When their lips began to move together, a soft moan escaped Greg’s throat. He’d imagined this for so long, the fact that it was happening in a panic room, with a maniac just outside, didn’t matter now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s lips were soft and warm, and Greg tilted his head to the right to get better access, and their noses slotted together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That lovely nose</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Greg thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and that lovely, lovely mouth</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They kissed, learning the shape of each other’s lips, and the sounds that escaped their throats. For them, the world stood still for a moment, or maybe they did, the world racing around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Six men stormed the flat. Shots were fired. Finally, the intruder fell to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they kissed, safe behind ten inches of steel. Greg’s arm dropped to Mycroft’s side, fingers curling into the fabric of the waistcoat, pulling him closer. A small sound escaped the other man’s throat, and he wrapped his arms around Greg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a fight, but Greg knew he had won. Slowly, he pulled back, resting his forehead against Mycroft’s, staying close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know it won’t be easy, Mycroft. We both work a lot, and have shit hours at that. Maybe it won’t be enough to have a quick lunch every other week. But I really, really want to try. Because we fit together, you and I. And I don’t care if there are security measures, or if this has to remain hidden from the public. Hell, I’ll be the dirty little secret, if I have to. I just want to spend more time with you, get to know you. Show you that the man you are outside work is just as interesting as the one who leads the entire fucking country.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grinned, as Mycroft flinched at the curse words, brushed his thumb over his lips. They were swollen in a beautiful red. “Let me take you to lunch. This week, and the week after, and the week after and…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft crushed their mouths together, Greg’s sentence ending in an ineloquent ‘hmpf’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you stop talking, if I agree to those … propositions?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I might.” Greg teased and pulled him close again. His shoulder was throbbing, but here, close to the man he had fallen in love with over the past weeks- maybe years, Greg felt safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gregory,” Mycroft said, softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>___</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning.” Simon nodded, and Greg could see a bit of a smile in there. A quick exchange over the intercom, then he punched a few keys on the security system. The front door opened, and Greg stepped into the flat, closing the door behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, two months after the incident, everything had been restored to its old glory. Greg remembered the state it had been in after the incident. The pictures had been torn from the wall, all the cupboards cleaned of their contents, which had been strewn across the floor. The attacker had torn up books and crashed glasses, while Mycroft and he had sheltered in the panic room. After getting out, that had been the first shock. Then, being led out of the flat, they had to pass the pool of blood where Simon had been shot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The security guard had fully healed from his gunshot wound, and had come back to work a week ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their souls had taken longer to heal, the threat to their lives very imminent, finding its ways into their dreams and conversations for a long time. Slowly, they began to feel almost normal again, Mycroft had been keen on moving back to the flat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kicking his shoes off, Greg called his partner’s name. “My. I brought Indian.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard the rustling of paper but got no other reaction. Dropping the bags on the kitchen counter, he made his way into the office, finding his boyfriend quite occupied, still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg wrapped his arms around his upper body, pressing a kiss to the line of skin over the shirt collar, rubbing his nose against the short hair at the nape of his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gregory,” Mycroft said, and it meant “Welcome home.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to the wonderful Melanie for this prompt! I've wanted to do Mystrade for so long and it's been so much fun. Also, you really are a kind and wonderful person and I'm so happy we met on Twitter &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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